Lost
by Athena Silverwolf
Summary: Bilba was a Baggins by name and blood, and she was a very respectable Hobbit. But when Gandalf the Wizard comes knocking on her door with the offer of a lifetime, could her Took blood win out in the end? Protective Dwalin, brotherly Fili & Kili, and of course, Thilbo Bagginshield. Fem!Bilbo
1. Gandalf

**Author's Note: to the readers of my Teen Wolf and Lord of the Rings stories, I promise those stories will be finished, but for now, I am working on a Hobbit story!**

Chapter 1

There was a time in my life when I was not so Baggins, and let my Tookish streak run wild. That part of my blood took me hunting through forests in search of elves, armed with a wooden sword and a pocket knife. It was the Took in me who grew to be friends with the wizard, Gandalf, and hunted for adventure wherever I could find it, dressed in trousers and a plain shirt, my long hair pinned back in a braid as curly bangs fell over my eyes.

But then came the Fell Winter, and like the waters of the Brandywine, my Tookish blood froze. I lost both my mother and my father in that terrible winter, and when spring finally came, I was a very different Hobbit. The Baggins side of me berated me for not having spent as much time as I could with my family, and it was not until their passing that I came to appreciate the comforts of home. Just as a respectable Hobbit should.

My longing for adventure faded as the snows melted, and I found contentment in the peace of a quiet morning in the sunshine, a cup of tea in my hand. My trousers were packed away, replaced by skirts, and my braids came undone as I let my hair grow even longer. But there were days of the year when I could not turn away from the chest hiding my trousers and vests and suspenders. One was my mother's birthday, and since it had been her to encourage my adventures like her own, I allowed myself that small return to my childhood.

So I dressed in my trousers, a white shirt, a new yellow vest, and a pale blue necktie, with my hair braided back, and a pipe in my hand. I was enjoying a clear morning sunshine when smoke was blown back into my face, startling me out of my memories with a cough. Looking up to see an old man draped in a gray robe and cloak with a staff and pointed hat standing at my gate, I blinked in surprise. "Good morning," I greeted, sticking the pipe back in my mouth as I looked at him.

"What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning or to say that this is a good morning whether I want it or not?" he replied. I looked at him incredulously; had the man never heard of a simple, polite greeting? "Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?"

Apparently he had not. "All of them at once, I suppose," I told him, shifting uncomfortably on my bench. My first instinct was to run, and slam the door behind me, but my father's scolding voice reminded me, 'Manners, Bilba." So, scowling, I turned back and quickly asked, "Can I help you?"

"That remains to be seen," the man replied darkly. "I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure," he told me, eyeing me contemplatively as he spoke.

"An adventure?" I repeated, dumbfounded. Who on earth was this man? Did he not know that Hobbits were respectable creatures, ones that did not go on adventures? "No, I don't imagine that anyone West of Bree would have much interest in adventures." I told him, and pushed away my Tookish longing as I thought of my running through the woods in search of silver haired being. "Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things." At this point I could not contain my bewilderment and got to my feet, hurrying to the mailbox. "Make you late for dinner," I remembered, laughing softly as I sorted through the few letters in my hand. Glancing once or twice up at the man, then decided it was time to run for the door. "Good morning," I nodded, and started my climb up the stairs.

"To think that I should have lived to be 'Good morning-ed' by Belladonna Took's daughter as if I were selling buttons at the door," the man told me sharply.

At the mention of my mother, I turned, and stared incredulously at him. "Beg your pardon?"

"You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilba Baggins," he replied.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I demanded.

"Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I'm Gandalf. And Gandalf means...Me." he told me.

"Gandalf? Not Gandalf the wandering Wizard...who made such excellent fireworks? Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve," I remembered fondly, laughing slightly. Then I composed myself, clearing my throat, and said, "No idea you were still in business."

"And where else should I be?" the Wizard demanded, his eyes darkening.

"Where else...?" I asked, cutting myself off before I could say, 'not here, offering me an adventure that is for certain.' So instead I stuck my pipe back in my mouth, my fingers tapping a nervous rhythm across the bowl.

"Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me...even if it's only my fireworks," Gandalf told me. "Yes. Well, that's decided. It'll be very good for you...and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others," he decided, turning away.

"Inform the-who? What? No!" I realized what he was doing and instantly protested, though a tiny Took voice yelled at me to take the chance at an adventure. "No. No... Wait. We do not want any adventures here, thank you," I told him, bounding up my steps to escape as I silenced both him and my Took blood. "Not today. Not... I suggest you try Over the Hill or Across the Water," I finished, then seeing the way he leaned on his staff and stared, I hurriedly added, "Good morning," and fled inside.

Leaning back against the door, I locked it quickly. A soft sizzling sound caught my attention through the door, and I hurried to the window. The wizard was bent over, and as I stared, he moved to look in the window. I gasped and leaped out of sight, pressing against the wall until I heard Gandalf leave.

Around noon I pulled on a blue waistcoat and checked the window before slipping out the door. The market was buzzing with cheerful laughter and chatter, but today it did not quite bring a smile to my face. I looked around the tents and stalls warily as I shopped for my dinner. Once I finally had the fish, I hurried for the bridge, eager to get back to my smial. "Good morning, Miss Bilba," Mr. Worrywart greeted as he set his wheelbarrow down. "Here, have a feel of me tubers. Nice and firm they are. Just got in from West Farthing," he offered, holding up on the vegetables. As I often did buy from the man, I did as he offered, absently looking for a pointed gray hat.

"Very impressive, Mr. Worrywart," I assured him. "Now I don't suppose you've seen a Wizard lurking around these parts?" I asked quietly, looking around.

The elderly farmer looked quickly at me in concern before he said, "Tall fellow, long gray beard, pointy hat? Can't say I have." But I'd already seen the pointy hat sticking above the tents and quickly hid behind him, his height easily concealing my small form. As Gandalf grew closer I hurried for the bridge, only to have the hat turn out to be a blanket, folding atop a large basket.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I apologized to Mr. Worrywart and hurried up the hills to Bag End. There'd be no adventure for this Baggins.


	2. Blunt the Knives

**Author's Note:**

Chapter 2

A respectable Hobbit did not go visiting unannounced. Since I had no announced visitors, I had no qualms about changing into my nightclothes for dinner. The smell of roasting potatoes and fish filled the kitchen as I set out the table with a candle and my teapot and everything else I'd need. Spreading a napkin over my lap, I reached for the pepper and the lemon.

Then the doorbell rang. Slumping in my seat, I dusted my hands and went to answer the door. When I opened it, I found neither Hobbit nor Wizard. A tall, tattooed and very intimidating Dwarven warrior stood in my doorway. He raked his eyes over me as he said, "Dwalin, at your service."

As he bowed, I gulped, quickly tying my robe over my chest. "Bilba Baggins, at yours," I replied, and he stepped inside. "Do we know each other?" I asked, looking up at his considerable height. He was tall, and broad, far bigger than any Hobbit, and I barely came to his shoulder.

"No," he snapped, looking at me as though perhaps I were crazy. "Which way, laddie?" he asked, shedding his cloak. "And ye might not want to tell the others yer a lass," he advised me, glancing over his shoulder. "Master Gandalf told us ye was Bilbo Baggins, not Bilba," he added, catching my startled look. Then he turned around, taking in the various tunnels and asked, "Is it down here?"

"Is what down where?" I asked, affronted and very confused. But it did not surprise me that Gandalf was behind this.

"Supper," the Dwarf replied as though I were daft. He threw his cloak into my arms and I stared down the hall after him. "He said there'd be food and lots of it," he added.

"He…he said? Who said? Did Gandalf send you?" I called down the hall after him. Hanging up his cloak, I hurried down the hallway to find him seated at the table, digging into my supper. But I did not protest, sitting quietly in the corner with my tea as he ate. I stared in stunned silence as he ate the whole fish head, crunching on the bones. "Very goodness. Is there any more?" he asked through the mouthful of food.

"What? Oh yes, yes," I assured him, scrambling for the plate of scones on the counter. Turning around I took in the size of the fur clad warrior and stuffed a scone in my robe pocket for later. "Help yourself," I offered, wincing as he did exactly that. "Is just that um, I wasn't expecting company," I apologized, standing at his side. And then, of course, the bell rang again.

"That'll be the door," Dwalin growled, looking up at me. Then pointedly he added, "laddie." Swallowing, I hurried down the hall, internally pleading, 'Please be Gandalf.'

But when I opened the door, I was faced with another Dwarf. This one appeared far kinder, and far less intimidating than his brethren in my kitchen. He had his white beard curled on the end, his long white hair unbound and old eyes patient. Seeing me, he smiled, and spread his arms. "Balin," he introduced himself, bowing as he added, "at your service."

"Good evening?" I greeted, praying this one had more manners.

"Yes. Yes, it is. Though I think it might rain later," he replied, stepping inside. "Am I late?" he asked, searching my face.

"Late for what?" I asked hesitantly.

There was a rustle from the other room, and Balin looked over to see Dwalin standing in my living room. "Oh! Ha, ha!" he laughed, and I blinked in surprise. "Evening, brother," he laughed.

"By my beard," Dwalin chuckled. "You're shorter and wider than last we met."

"Wider, not shorter," the shorter Balin corrected, than added, "And sharp enough for both of us." I watched in shock, wincing as they slammed their heads together, laughing, and I hoped it was some kind of brotherly greeting that I did not have to endure.

"Uh, excuse me? Sorry, I hate to interrupt. But the thing is, I'm not entirely sure  
you're in the right house," I told them, only to go completely unnoticed.

"Have you eaten?" Dwalin asked as he filled a mug with ale. The ale was probably the only thing I was glad to see him take. I would not drink it, only my father ever had.

"It's not that I don't like visitors. I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit. But I do like to know them before they come visiting," I told them from the doorway, watching them help themselves.

"What is this?" Dwalin asked, sniffing at the block of blue cheese his brother handed him.

"I don't know. I think it's cheese. Gone blue," Balin replied. I shook my head in exasperation. Had they never heard of Blue Cheese? Then I amended, that wasn't particularly a bad thing, I myself could not stand the cheese, but I kept some around for when my sister came visiting.

"It's riddled with mold," the younger of the two said, then tossed it over his shoulder. Affronted, I stared at the food and picked it up. He could have at least just left it on the shelf!

"The thing is, I don't know either of you. Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt  
but I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry," I continued, irked that I was being ignored by the two guests in my house, who I didn't know, and were now pillaging my pantry.

Both brothers turned to me as I finished, and Balin said, "Apology accepted." I sighed, annoyed. Was that the only thing they'd heard? "Now, fill it up, brother, don't stint," the elder ordered, nudging the warrior back to the ale barrel.

I turned away from the two dwarves as my bell rang once again. Opening the door, I found myself facing two Dwarves, much younger than Balin and Dwalin, and as different physically as the two brothers. "Fili," one said. He looked to be the elder of the pair, with thick blonde hair, a big nose, and a braided mustache. "Kili," the second continued. This one was not smiling, assessing me sharply instead, with dark eyes that matched Fili's. He had only stubble on his jaw, and no braids in his dark hair. "At your service," they chorused, bowing. I could a very good look at the sword on the blonde's back as he bowed and swallowed. Another warrior…a pair of them by the looks of the weapons in Kili's hands. "You must be Mister Baggins," the younger said, meeting my eyes.

"Nope, you can't come in. You've come to the wring house!" I snapped, shutting the door.

The young Dwarves were having none of it. "What?" Kili demanded, shoving the door open. I grunted, very unlady-like, as I was forced back with the door, and glared at the two. "Has it been cancelled?" he asked, eyes wide in worry.

"No one told us," Fili added, stepping up to his brother's side.

"Cancelled?" I questioned, extremely confused. "No, nothing's been cancelled," I told him, only to find that being honest was a very bad idea.

"That's a relief," Kili grinned, and the two stomped their way inside.

As he passed me, the blonde gave me an assessing look, and I stared back. Could he tell I was a girl? No, he couldn't, I was dressed as a man, and it didn't exactly have a chest to give away my true gender. "Careful with these," he ordered, laying a series of swords and knives in my arms. "I just had them sharpened." There was a rather smug smirk on his face as he laden me down with his various blades.

"It's nice, this place," Kili said, wandering around the entryway. "Did you do it yourself?" he asked.

"What? No, it's been in the family for years," I replied, watching in open mouthed horror as he wiped his muddy boots on "That's my mother's glory box! Could you please not do that?" I snapped.

He stopped only when Dwalin cuffed him over the head then slung his arm around the younger Dwarf's shoulders. "Fili, Kili, come one, give us a hand," he ordered, and the blonde one followed quickly.

"Mr. Dwalin," Kili laughed, and I followed indignantly.

"Let's shove this in the hall, otherwise we'll never get everyone in," Balin suggested, ignoring my indignant protesting.

"Everyone? How many more are there?" I demanded, holding onto Fili's knives before they fell onto my feet. The bell rang again, and I groaned, muttering, "Oh no, no." Dropping Fili's blades on the glory box, I called, "There's nobody home!" As I threw down Kili's sword and quiver, I snapped, "Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many Dwarves in my dining room as it is! If this is some clot-head's idea of a joke…" Stomping up to the door, I grumbled, "I can only say it is in very poor taste."

And then I opened the door to have a number of Dwarves-by the Valar, were there eight of them-tumble into a pile in my doorway. I blinked in shock as they complained and grumbled, and Gandalf leaned into the doorway. "Gandalf," I sighed, clenching my jaw in my annoyance and anger.

"Master Baggins," he replied, having the decency to look slightly ashamed. The Dwarves by now had picked themselves up and stormed into my house, shedding weapons as they went.

"I am going to get dressed, and you are going to tell me the meaning of all this," I snapped, not staying to watch the Wizard duck into my home. Instead I hurried back into my bedroom and scrambled into a loose white shirt and my trousers. I went to reach for a shawl only to remember that Gandalf had indeed called me master, not mistress. Dwalin had been telling the truth when he said they were told I was a man. Groaning, I forwent the shawl and snapped on suspenders instead, hastily tucking in my shirt as I hurried from my room.

Only to find the Dwarves raiding my pantry. "That's my chicken!" I protested as a particularly fat, red haired Dwarf ambled by. "Excuse me, not my wine!" I snapped. Turning round and round as Dwarves passed me by with various items in their hands, I ordered, "Put that back! One Dwarf turned around at my orders and I stepped back, horrified. That…was an axe in his forehead. He muttered something in a language I did not understand, then turned away and continued on to the table.

"He's got…an injury," an older, gray haired Dwarf told me as I turned around.

"Oh, you mean the axe in his head?" I sniped, stunned at their lack of caring.

"Dead?" the Dwarf replied, lifting a horn to his ear. "No, only between his ears. His legs work fine," he added, walking past me.

Watching the Dwarves continue to empty my pantry, I ordered, "Put that back! Excuse me! Put that back! Not the jam, please! Excuse me! That's a tad excessive isn't it?" I asked, pulling up my suspenders. I wore them loose as not to give away my chest. "Have you got a cheese knife?" I asked as the red haired Dwarf walked by carrying several wheels of cheese.

"Cheese knife? He eats it by the block," a younger, thinner Dwarf told me. He had a hat on his head and wore his hair in two braids beneath the curled sides of the hat.

"No! No, that's Grandpa Mungo's chair! No, so it that. Take it back please," I requested as the two finely carved chairs passed me.

The deaf Dwarf muttered, "I cannot hear what you're saying, but turned around as I pointed.

"That's antique, not for sitting on. That is a book, not a coaster. And out that map down, it's not a napkin," I snapped, turning round and round. "No, no, put that down! Good heavens! I'm saving that for a special occasion! That is for my cousin, put it back! Not my prize winners, no thank you." I snapped, wrestling a certain bowl from the hands of one Dwarf. I stumbled back to the hallway as Gandalf took a glass of wine, giving up on my protests. It was pretty clear they did not care. Throwing my hands up in annoyance, I pinched the bridge of my nose at their lack of manners. Couldn't they just ask?

I stood in the pantry doorway as the Dwarves and Gandalf settled around the long table. They immediately started reaching for food, whacking each other and laughing raucously. "Bombur, catch," the hatted one called down the table, tossing a hardboiled egg to the fat red haired one. He caught the egg easily in his mouth, making the others cheer and roar. They all started throwing food, snagging it out of the air to plant it in their mouth or on their plate.

Sighing in resignation, I turned back to the pantry to find myself something to eat, and slumped. My pantry…was empty. I watched in horror as Fili walked across the table top, but I was awed to see that he never stepped in food. "Anyone want an ale?" he called, jumping down into his seat. "Here you go, brother!" he cheered, handing one of the mugs to Kili.

"Gandalf," I growled under my breath as I listened to the roaring laughter. Then the belching contest started. Setting my jaw in anger, I resigned myself to standing in the doorway, munching whatever food I could swipe from Gandalf's plate.

When the meal was complete, the Dwarves' behavior did not get any better. They started cleaning up, thankfully, except, "Excuse me that is a doily, not a dishcloth."

Swiping the doily from the Dwarf, I set it on the counter, only to have another, Bofur, say, "But it's full of holes."

"It's supposed to look like that. It's crochet," I snapped.

"And a wonderful game it is too, if you've got the balls for it," Bofur snickered.

Horrified at the language, I turned away, leaning against one of the shelves. I pinched the bridge of my nose, grumbling, "Be bother and confusticate these Dwarves!"

"My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter? " Gandalf inquired, ducking into the kitchen.

"What's the matter?" I asked incredulously. I could hear the hysteria rising in my voice and I fought to keep it level and low. "I'm surrounded by Dwarves. What are they doing here?"

"Oh, they're quite a merry gathering once you get used to them," the Wizard assured me.

Annoyed and angered, I pushed Gandalf towards another doorway. "I don't want to get used to them. Look at the state of my kitchen. There's mud trod into the carpet. They've pillaged the pantry. I won't tell you what they've done in the bathroom. They've all but destroyed the plumbing. I don't understand what they're doing in my house!" I snapped, my fists clenched in anger. At this point I didn't even care how petulant I sounded, but I wanted them out.

"Excuse me," Ori, the youngest of the group, at least had the manners to say excuse me. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?" he asked.

"Here you go, Ori. Give it to me," Fili said, taking it quickly.

My jaw dropped in horror as he threw it down the hallway to his brother, who threw it behind his back into the kitchen. "Take that back. Excuse me. That's my mother's West Farthing pottery. It's over 100 years old!" I cried, ducking flying dishes and silverware. The brothers bounced the dishes off elbows, knees, and heads as Ori watched in fascination. Storming into the hall, I found four of the group with my silverware, using them to sound out a rhythm as they stomped their feet. "And can you not do that? You'll blunt them!" I demanded, seeing them running the forks and knives together.

"Ooh. Do you hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt the knives," Bofur taunted, grinning across the table at Nori.

"Blunt the knives. Bend the forks," Kili started to sing, a wide grin on his face as he waved on his brother.

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," Fili sang right along, grinning at his brother.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates. That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" Gloin and Oin were quick to join in, and it seemed like Oin could hear just fine. "Cut the cloth, tread on the fat. Leave the bones on the bedroom mat," lutes and flutes had appeared now, accompanying the signing as dishes were flying through the air. "Pour the milk on the pantry floor. Splash the wine on every door. Dump the crooks in a boiling bowl. Pound them up with a thumping pole. When you're finished, if they are whole, send them down the hall to roll." I watched in horrified silence, unable to believe that nothing had smashed yet, then shoved my way passed Fili. "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" they roared, and I found everything stacked in clean, neat piles on the table.

All around me, the Dwarves laughed, smoking pipes and finishing their ale. They all had wide grins on their faces. Gandalf shrugged, chuckling as he sat and Kili laughed, "Look at his face!"

And then there was a harsh knock on the door. Instantly the group went silent, turning towards the doorway, and Gandalf said, "He is here."


End file.
